


A Winner's Reward

by OceanofNoise



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Hugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanofNoise/pseuds/OceanofNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy is determined to end his losing streak against Novak, but not for the reasons one might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winner's Reward

**Author's Note:**

> Since Andy is supposed to be portrayed as a little delusional and even a smidgen sociopathic (I’ll do anything for a laugh!), I feel obligated to say that this story isn’t meant to be mean-spirited against Andy or anything. I actually like him! This is set (and was written) in the summer of 2008.

I must be the unluckiest guy in the whole world. And as I watch Novak’s Wimbledon hopes evaporate, I can conclude that Marat Safin is the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe. Not only does he get to win his match against Nole, but he gets a big squishy hug as well!  
  
Okay, so I’m not the most diligent tennis player out there, but I should have beaten Novak at least once in my career. I’m older, for God’s sake! Then maybe I’ll get a squishy hug too.

Maybe I’ve gotten a few squishy hugs during juniors, and maybe even one here or there after turning pro. But I never appreciated them for their worth. And as time wore on and we became more naturalized friends, he’s done away with the random hugging altogether.

I’ve been putting some more work into my fitness, so hopefully that will transfigure into some positive results. And I’ll pray that I end up in Novak’s quarter in our upcoming tournaments. If—when I beat him, I’ll reap the rewards. 

I guess I don’t have to win in order to get a little action (although I'd prefer to). The hug with Mardy Fish? I’ve always disliked Americans. How about Ivan Ljubicic? That would have been nice for me. Well except maybe in a private place, with more clothing removed… hm. I should get some more practice in. 

* * * 

Toronto rolls around and I feel inspired. My tennis and my fitness are coalescing perfectly. Better still, I’ve been placed in Novak’s quarter.

Subtlety is not my forte. My coach Miles seems to know what I’m up to.

“If you stop your training just because you win and get to feel up another player then I’m gonna quit.”

“Fuck off,” I snap, too far gone for humiliation. “And you can’t quit, I’ll fire you.”

“Miles told me why you’ve been training so hard lately,” Jamie says to me later with an air of contempt while we warm up for our doubles match against Richard Gasquet and Nicolas Mahut.

“Yeah, so what?” I shoot back.

“You are aware that Nole’s your friend, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And he’s a guy, right?”

“So…?”

“And who the hell would want to hug a little arsehole like you?”

“Fuck off,” I snap at him too, wondering if it’s possible to fire your own sibling.

 * * * 

I make the quarterfinals! Novak does too! I win! I can’t believe it! Well maybe I can a little bit but I’m overjoyed to say the least. I try not to act too excited after match point for his sake (probably did a poor job of that) and stroll to the net as casually as I can manage. Nole grope in three… two… one…

He puts a hand on my shoulder and my body tingles in anticipation. His other hand pats at my chest. Okay, this is it! I lean in slightly, ready to embrace the strength of his arms, just as… he pulls away from me! Novak shakes the hand of the umpire and heads to his chair. I’m left bewildered.

It’s not fair! I worked so hard to win that match, and what’s my payoff? A spot in the semis? Pfft!

“Well, I hope after your, uh, disappointment that you will be able to concentrate on your tennis more,” Miles says in the locker room after the match.

“Yeah,” I agree wholeheartedly. “I have to win again the next time we meet.”

Miles narrows his eyes at me.

* * *

I try to make the best of Toronto but end up losing to Rafa anyway and focus my attention to where my mind has already meandered: Cincinnati. The draw stipulates that I have to beat Roger to make the final to face Novak, who would have to beat Rafa. No sweat. I’ve beaten Roger twice in three meetings. Maybe I’ll win in straight sets this time.

My plan suffers a setback when Roger loses in the third round. As the tournament progresses, I end up facing Ivo Karlovic in the semis, and Novak faces Rafa as expected. I could have defeated Roger without batting an eye. I was not anticipating a matchup with Mr. Serve of Death.

I battle through his service games and manage to win in straights and to my utter relief, Nole has prevailed over Rafa. It’s a God damn final of a Masters, he will not deny me of the pleasure I expect and deserve.

* * *

From past events I can confirm that I can win twice today. That is exactly what I set out to do. And do I do.

The monumental landmark of earning my first Masters event is eclipsed when, at the net, Nole finally brings his arms over my shoulders and brings me to his chest. 

I’ve done it! It’s finally happened! I clutch him at the waist, cautious to not be too eager. I rest my chin on his shoulder and close my eyes to experience the embrace at its fullest intimacy. I’m inwardly glad for the tennis net between us preventing our southern regions from pressing together; otherwise he may have been a little unsettled at a certain aspect of my unmanageable enthusiasm.

He takes his arms away and suddenly I feel very cold and exhausted. The awards ceremony is long and arduous, and I can’t help but notice, as he stands beside me, how close Novak’s loose hands are to my hip. I can scarcely breathe throughout the whole presentation.

Finally the whole tedious process is done and the two of us retreat to the locker room.

“How come you didn’t hug me in Toronto?” I demand without thinking at our first moment alone.

Novak stops untying his shoes. “Excuse me?”

I hadn’t meant to bring it up, but since I’m on the topic I decide to persist. “Remember when I beat you in Toronto? You never even hugged me, and you hug everyone else that beats you.”

He cocks his head. “Um, I don’t know. I never really think about this kind of thing.”

“I do,” I say indignantly before I can stop myself. Oh shit.

“Aww, I’m sorry Andy,” he says with a grin. “C’here, I’ll make it up to you.”

He stands up and I move towards him, expecting another hug. Instead, he grabs my shirt and forcefully brings our mouths together.

I don’t react at first because your mind reacts for you when you’re dreaming. But the wet saliva swilling… his tongue entering the caverns of my mouth… our hips rubbing together… my entire body tingling with excitement… this is not a dream.

He pulls us apart suddenly and looks at me expectantly.

“Holy shit,” I pant for breath. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that?”

He opens his mouth to speak but I couldn’t care less about anything other than the insatiable need to alleviate the fire he’s started. I seize him in my arms fearlessly and continue where we left off. Without a net to obstruct us we’re free to feel the burning sensations in both our shorts and I can only see that as a good thing.

Mardy Fish, Ivan Ljubicic, Marat Safin… eat your fucking hearts out.

* * *

I lose in the first round of the Olympics and couldn’t care less. I’m happy. Miles, on the other hand, is furious.

“Andy, what the hell? You didn’t seriously waste all that training and work just to get a fucking hug did you?”

I look up and smirk at him. “Yes, it was a  _fucking_  hug.”

I burst into hysterical laughter. He throws his arms up in defeat.


End file.
